


Given Time

by 221bMoonunit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bMoonunit/pseuds/221bMoonunit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes to realize just how much Molly means to him mostly because something weird happens that makes him see a world in which she was murdered and seems to become a case he can’t seem to solve…Can he make the universe right once more before what he experienced becomes a reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good news, I still don’t own the show Sherlock, or the characters or anything! Okay, I own my clothes but the rest…
> 
> I know I’ve said this before about my stories but this one is indeed a weird one. I love the ending that happens much later in the story, so hopefully you will find it worth reading. In fact this story might be better read and enjoyed with lots alcohol. 
> 
> Just thought I should warn you…
> 
> It’s a weird one…
> 
> Seriously…Don’t you dare say I didn’t warn you, because I did, I know I did!
> 
> This is not really a character death fic, how can this story have a happy ending with Molly dead…um, so…yeah…right, spoiler! She’s not dead. But the thought that she is needs to turn Sherlock’s world upside down and sideways….and sadly, this story will perhaps prove just how completely rubbish I can be as a writer…
> 
> Now listen carefully and you might actually hear the X-Files theme song in the background…oh, much like with Sherlock I don’t own or have the legal right to the that theme song either…

~*~PART 1~*~

_‘That is not quite so common, is it? Ah,me! It’s a wicked world and when a clever man turns to crime it is the worst of all…’_

The Speckled Band by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson walked side by side. They seemed to be going towards an old abandon factory that Sherlock highly suspected was the hideout for a criminal they were searching for.

“So, will you please follow the plan?” John asked Sherlock, hopefully.

Sherlock looked sideways at him.

“No, John.” His expression as well as his voice was totally without expression.

“Please. She’ll do anything for you…and it’s the perfect plan!”

“No.” Sherlock repeated this time it was said with extreme slowness yet this time a bit sharp.

“Why not?”

“I think we have more important things to do than plan Molly’s surprise birthday party! Plus, I hate parties, you know that! I’m not going, John. You can make my excuses. Say, I’m busy…I know she’ll understand.” Sherlock told him, not really caring if it made John or Molly happy with him.

“Sherlock! I know that Molly will understand…she _always_ understands! Hell, you use that same excuse for my birthday dinners!” John said with great aggravation. “Molly confided to Mary that she had never had a surprise party, so she’s getting one!”

“Which is fine! Really, I see no issue with that at all! Sounds like something you’d help with…mostly because you are so stupidly nice and all.”

“It would be nice and very helpful if you took her to her own surprise party.” John told him with great honesty.

“It would be very nice and even more helpful if you’d shut up about it! I’m not taking Molly to her birthday party. Nor am I going _to_ her bloody party!” Sherlock said obviously highly annoyed with his best friend.

“We are celebrating her life, Sherlock! Come on! For once, can’t you be a good friend! Is that really too hard for you to do!”

“ ** _For once!?_** Seriously, you are daring to say that! How dare you! _I am_ a damn good bloody friend!”

“Damn good bloody bastard, actually. Don’t you pretend that you don’t know that you suck at being a friend, much less a human being! Yet, we love and accept you anyway! _Your friends_ , Sherlock, are always willing to forgive you daily, if not hourly…and Molly…Most of all! She’s always forgiving you…caring about you…loving you, even if you being the stupid twat that you are, don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t ever need to be forgiven.” Sherlock told him, sounding surprised. Seeming to ignore everything else John had said.

“Yeah, trust me mate, you do. You have already been forgiven countless times and many of those times without even an apology from you.” John stated, lowering his voice as they were even closer to the building than they had been before. “Come on, Sherlock! We both know you will end up going…so why not take her for it will mean so much to her.”

“I am **_not_** going! I don’t even like going to my own birthday parties which you always seem to force on me and by the way what part of high functioning sociopath don’t you understand!” Sherlock said to John as he too lowered his voice as they slowly moved towards the large doors.

“Oh, you know you love the presents and you love guessing what’s in them even more.” John said knowingly with a smile, perhaps remembering fondly some of those parties that were forced upon Sherlock. Maybe even remembering how Mrs. Hudson had made Sherlock wear a bright ridiculous party hat just to blow out the candles on his every own cake. 

Sherlock glared at his best friend. “I _never_ guess.”

“Oh, yes, you do…Which by the way, you don’t have to give her a present. For you being there will be present enough.”

“In other words, you bought something wrapped it and stuck my name on it.” Sherlock informed him knowingly and in a complete matter of fact way. He was quite certain that John had done exactly that.

“Of course I did!” John confirmed before continuing in a completely cheeky manner. “So don’t act at all surprised when she thanks you! If you are lucky you might end up with a kiss!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, shaking his head at John’s silliness. They carefully entered the old factory. It looked so very ancient. A ghost of what it used to be or even worse what it could have been. The place was deathly still as if waiting for something…anything really. An old abandoned building didn’t have much life except for bugs and rodents and the occasional person spray painting or doing something they really didn’t need to be doing…

They both searched what seemed to be a completely empty building. Not really expecting to find the man they were hunting. Seriously, it had been a long shot anyway.

Which is why John felt comfortable enough to continue his earlier conversation.

“So…Party…” John whispered. Just because it was highly doubtful that the villain was actually here, didn’t mean he was going to be an idiot about it.

Sherlock could have easily hurt himself with another damn eye roll. Wishing his best friend would shut up about the bloody party. He found himself whispering harshly at him, “Do shut up, John! You are in no way my wife so do stop nagging me about it. I won’t go and that is final!” 

“Oh, I highly doubt you’ll ever have a wife…Unless it’s for some crazy case and even then…”

“Do shut up, John.”

“Sherlock.”

“I am serious, shut the hell up. NO. BIRTHDAY. PARTY.”

“But it’s for Molly!” John said slightly louder than necessary.

“So. Go ahead and celebrate the silly fact that she’s older. Gee, what a big accomplishment! I’ll try my best to be happy for her. Tell me, what will she do next year around this same time? Hmm? Let me take a wild guess, shall I? She’ll have another party?” Sherlock asked in complete sarcasm.

“Sherlock, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. One day you might just regret it…” John said as if his friend already had regrets and felt sad for him.

Sherlock shot him a look. “I’m a man with absolutely no regrets. I strongly doubt I’ll ever have any.”

John sighed as he shook his head before informing him, “You just jinxed yourself big time, mate…”

As if the great Sherlock Holmes believed in jinxes!

Sherlock and John rounded a sharp corner to have John suddenly shout his name in a complete sharp warning. Sadly, the warning came much too late as a metal pipe hit Sherlock hard on the side of his head.

Intense pain with a flash of brilliant bright red before a ghastly black darkness fell over Sherlock as he landed on the ground with a loud painful thud…

~*~End of Part 1~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments...Wow, you surprised me and made me type the next part much faster than expected...
> 
> So again thank you and here we are...
> 
> I do hope you continue to enjoy.

~*~Part 2~*~

_‘…I observe that you are shivering.’_

_‘It is not cold which makes me shiver,’ said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested._

_‘What then?’_

_‘It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.’_

-The Speckled Band by Arthur Conan Doyle

_It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions…_

_-_ The Reigate Squires by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

“Sherlock! Come on…now open those eyes.” John told him with great authority. It was a tone that reminded Sherlock that John had once been a military man long before he became his best friend.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to find himself on his back looking up at very concerned John. Who seemed to be gently feeling the back of his head before lifting a hand in front of the great detective’s face.

“Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?” John asked him.

“One. You are flipping me the bird actually.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes upon him…Something wasn’t right; he seemed to know that instantly without really knowing why.

“Right. Are you nauseous? Vision blurry?” John asked all the right questions before stating, “That is one hell of a goose egg back there.”

“No, the metal pipe hit me on the side of the head.” Sherlock informed him. As John carefully helped pull him into a seated position.

John pulled back with a surprised look upon his face.

“No.” He stated with certainty. “Some plaster and wood from the rotting ceiling fell on your head. You, being the bloody idiot that you enjoy being, pushed me out of the way before it could hit me…Then Greg and I bought you outside…Thanks by the way for…you know…for that did look quite painful.”

Sherlock felt confused and it wasn’t because he was wondering, nor did he really care about, who this ‘Greg’ was. He tilted his head to say uncertainly. “You’re welcome…but…John, the…um…factory we were in didn’t have a rotten ceiling.”

Now John seemed confused, “We weren’t in a factory, Sherlock. We were in a condemned building that once housed some flats. We were working on the Violet Hunter case…

Sherlock knew for a fact that he had never heard of Violet Hunter.

“How is Sherlock, John?” He suddenly heard a familiar voice and turned his head sharply to wince. His head attempted to punish him for that sudden movement.

Lestrade…Good old Lestrade…

Sherlock couldn’t help but blink up at him as he observed just how tired he seemed. Seriously tired almost as if he had been defeated in life once too often. Lestrade looked older than the last time he’d seen him. Who held the weight of the world upon his strong shoulders. His hair was much grayer. His middle a little thicker, yet still a fine looking man.

It was simply a surprise, really, for Sherlock had seen him a couple of days ago and he hadn’t looked like this at all. He was a man who always had what people would call ‘cop eyes’ and Lestrade was indeed no exception.

Yet…There had always been some little boy mischievous within those eyes…a twinkle that Sherlock had always liked in a fond way. Now…those eyes seemed so much harder…colder. As if he was finally allowing himself to be haunted by an old pain that he couldn’t seem to shake off.

The job was seriously getting to him. He was even smoking heavily once more…and his wife had left him once more and his daughter was dating a suspected drug dealer…No things were not going well in Lestrade’s world.

“He seems alright. A little confused and might have a possible concussion but I don’t think he needs to go to the hospital. I’ll simply watch him for the rest of the night. If I feel it necessary we’ll go to the hospital but after feeling the bump I don’t really think he’ll need to go.”

Lestrade nodded before leaning down to pat Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay…Also, I meant to tell you before but um…It’s good to see you, Sherlock, especially seeing you almost being normal. Not making yourself ill or…crazy.”

“Yeah.” John cut in sounding disgusted. “I had to force feed this stupid twat…Seriously, he went without food for five days. He kept telling me that he was getting so bloody close to catching her killer. Heaven forbids that he eats! He actually told me that digestion slows him down. Well guess what it also makes him weaker than a blasted kitten! It wasn’t all that hard to overpower him and make the bastard eat something.”

To say Sherlock was surprised was a serious understatement. Then he noticed what was bothering him from the moment he first opened his eyes.

John was wearing light brown trousers with a green and brown plaid button down shirt, with a chocolate colored leather jacket that Sherlock had never seen before. Yet it didn’t look brand new, a bit well-worn as if he wore it constantly.

Earlier John had been wearing blue jeans as well as a red and blue buttoned down shirt, along with his nice black jacket.

Sherlock slowly looked around at all the flashing lights of the police cars.

What had been a bright sunny morning now had the darkness settled around them with clouds attempting to hide the stars…

This was not right. None of this was right!

Sherlock swallowed hard before admitting honestly, “John…I’m not…feeling good.”

His doctor’s eyes sharped on him. “Are you going to throw up?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly and carefully. His head still hurt. “No. I’m just feeling…feeling…wrong.”

“The great famous hat detective is feeling wrong?” Lestrade asked as he straightened. The familiar twinkle that Sherlock was use to was now in his eyes…Suddenly making him appear years younger. Sherlock watched as he took out his phone to snap a picture of a ‘feeling wrong’ Sherlock. Another photo in his not so secret collection.

Sherlock glared at him in great annoyance as Lestrade’s smile faded.

“Listen…um…earlier I needed to talk to you.” Lestrade seemed to say carefully as if expecting something pretty horrible to happen. “As you know…This week will be a bad one…For you and everyone here that um…cared about…Well…You see, um, Sherlock…That bastard kills exactly once a year and always during this week…So…I’ve decided that…that…I’m not calling you on this anymore when the next body falls. I’m sorry, really I am. It’s just…It’s just you are much too close to that case and…and all it’s doing is destroying you. It might be best to step back and…I sorry but Scotland Yard is officially removing you from this case.”

John looked offended and suddenly quite angry.  He shot up from where he had been resting beside his best friend to face Lestrade.

“Oh! And you’re not!? Seriously, Greg! Some of the best over at the Yard knew Molly! She was the best damn pathologist London had! I know damn well how you valued her friendship so I also know that you are much too close to this case as well. Perhaps totally different reasons but you are still close and I don’t see you backing away from it.”

Lestrade glared right back. “You are completely right, I _am_ close nor am I ever backing away. This is much more than a bloody case to me! I am trying… _trying_ …my damnest not to let Molly’s murder get colder with every day that passes just waiting for another body to drop! She was my friend and I will always miss her and I feel as if waiting for the killer to do something next is slowly destroying me. You know damn well it’s destroying Sherlock and as his best mate, you should be doing bloody leaps of pure joy that I’m finally turning him way and no longer want him working the serial killings. It’s hard, when he only kills once a year and only during this week. More than hard, John.”

“Molly was my friend too, Greg. I understand just how hard it is, I really do but you can’t push Sherlock out. Not now, not ever…We both want her killer found and Sherlock **_will_** find him! You know he will. Because it was Molly… ** _His_** Molly.”

“We all want the bastard found, John, not just for Molly but for the other victims as well. But it’s been three years now…”

“So you want Sherlock to just give up!” John cut in.

“No…not give up.” Lestrade said softly. “Never that, but he needs to step back before we lose him too.”

Sherlock felt frozen. This truly wasn’t right! Both men continued to ignore him as Sherlock felt emotions that he didn’t really want to deal with.

 Molly…No, Molly wasn’t…dead…

Lestrade leaned towards John, “We both know how Molly’s murder affected him. It surprised us all; really…I think that he was even surprised by those strong emotions. John, you have been trying to help him and you have been a help to him…So, please continue to help him. Help him step away from this perhaps just for a little while. We both know he still takes other cases, it took him awhile but he started to work them. Maybe…Just maybe he needs to treat this like some of his other cold cases. You know the ones, where he dusts them off every now and then…He even solves a few of them in his delightful backhanded manner…Yet, we both know he has the ones, rare yes, that he can’t seem to solve…I am not saying Molly’s case is that but he needs—“

“He can’t, Greg, I know him. He will never let this go.” John cut in once more.

Lestrade nodded as if he knew that yet hated to see such a great detective grieve and become something almost unrecognizable.

“Perhaps he needs to, just for a little while and as painful as it is to say this, even if we…or even if _he_ , finally catches this arse, it won’t bring her back.”

Sherlock felt numb as he watched Lestrade give him an apology pat upon John’s arm before walking away.

Sherlock wasn’t feeling wrong, no _everything_ was wrong! What he was witnessing…experiencing… _this_ is all wrong!

“Molly…” Sherlock breathed, surprised to find himself feeling lost and uncertain. That too wasn’t right. Especially, her death…No! She was just alive. It was her birthday for heaven’s sake! John had just been planning her birthday party and now…

No! This definitely wrong! She was in no way dead! She hadn’t been murdered. Really, who the hell would dare kill _his_ pathologist?

No…no…For just yesterday she had given him a bag of toes after making a horrible joke as she smiled at him before laughing nervously when she came to realize that she had told yet another joke that had fallen flat.  He had even informed her that it wasn’t funny and perhaps she should stop attempting to become a comedian for it really wasn’t working for her. Molly’s fingers had briefly touched his as she handed him the much wanted bag. Those fingers had felt in that very short moment warm and soft as was the look in her twinkling eyes.

John sighed, looking at him with a sad heartbroken look before saying carefully. “Greg is being an arse but it’s probably because of all the cases he’s working on and…he’s wife left him _again_. This time for his brother, though you already know that don’t you? Anyway, holidays are going to be quite awkward in that household, let me tell you…Well, we should be going. At least before hitting your extremely hard head you solved the Violet Hunter case. Oh, that was some brilliant deductions on your part! It will make a delightful blog.”

Finally, John held out his hand towards him as he asked, “Need some help there mate?”

Sherlock reached out his hand to notice it was shaking slightly. He hoped John hadn’t noticed as his friend helped him up. If he had, John never once pointed it out. He could be a damn fine friend in that way.

“Let’s get you home and I’ll call Mary to let her know that I’ll be staying with you for a bit to make sure that you really are alright.”

He wasn’t alright at all. Perhaps never would be again.

“Thanks.” He muttered, feeling oddly weak for some reason.

Sherlock tripped but his best friend was there to keep him from falling.

~*~End of Part 2~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who took the time to hit the kudos button or to leave a much valued comment...Please note that I believe that you all are simply wonderful! It keeps me faithful in writing this story. 
> 
> Again thank you!

 

~*~Part 3~*~

 

_‘It seemed to me to be a most dark and sinister business.’_

 

-The Speckled Band by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

_Even his iron constitution, however had broken under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he never worked less than fifteen hours a day…Kept to his task for five days at a stretch…I found him a prey to the blackest depression…_

 

\- The Reigate Squires by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

 

John used his own key to open the door at 221B Baker Street. Without saying a word Sherlock moved past him and up the stairs quickly to his flat.

 

Actually, he hadn’t spoken at all during the cab ride home.

 

Sherlock could feel John’s eyes on him as he looked around his flat. In his sitting area there were a lot more books that hadn’t been there this morning. A small collage was on the wall that looked to be from the Violet Hunter case.

 

Sheet music was out that said he was in the middle of composing a new song. It was an unfamiliar melody. That seemed to have a haunting and depressive quality to it.

 

A full cup of cold tea was out when he could remember clearly that he had put an empty cup in the sink before he had left with John by his side.

 

Sherlock quickly looked through papers and even his calendar…all had the wrong date! Nearly three years from what it was supposed to be.

 

The kitchen was always messy unless Mrs. Hudson cleaned it and Sherlock quickly looked around to jerk open the door to the fridge to find no bag of toes. Simply two eyes that hadn’t been there earlier that rested in its bag right next to the expired milk.

 

“Sherlock, what are you doing? What’s wrong?” John asked curiously and to be honest there was some concern there as well.

 

“Everything!” Sherlock shouted slamming the door to the fridge. Turning to glare at John as if everything that was wrong was completely _his_ fault. “Every bloody thing is wrong, John!”

 

“What do you mean?” John questioned carefully. Almost as if he was suddenly expecting trouble. Danger could be around every corner. That seemed to be both men’s motto.

 

Sherlock quickly moved out of his kitchen towards his bedroom to come to a sudden stop. His bedroom door was shut and as Mycroft had once reminded him, he _never_ shut that door willingly.

 

His hand slowly reached out towards the doorknob even as everything inside of him shouted at him not to open it…In fact there was a familiar voice, John’s voice, gentle and kind that even seemed to whisper in his head, ‘Don’t open that door, Sherlock.’ Yet, he had too, so he did, wishing like hell that he hadn’t.

 

“Sherlock?” He heard John’s actual voice say. Weirdly the real voice sounded far away even though he could now feel John standing close at his back. When he felt his best friend’s hand fall on his shoulder, he jerked violently away.

 

“This is wrong! Don’t you understand?! **THIS IS WRONG!!** ”

 

On his bedroom walls was a huge collage. What looked like victims from the same serial killer… Ten victims, the eighth in the center of all the madness before him. One of the many countless things that was wrong…Much more than the change in John’s clothes.

 

“No…Please, Sherlock, help me understand. Just…calm down and talk to me…”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath as he moved closer to the collage upon his bedroom wall. Towards the horrible images that Sherlock knew he’d never get out of his head. Molly’s lifeless eyes stared back at him truly unconcerned about the emotions that filled him. The intense rage that made him want to…

 

“This is **_wrong_**!” Sherlock repeated savagely. Gesturing towards the wall before tugging at his hair.

 

“Yes.” John said softly. That one single word, as well as his eyes was full of heartbreak.

 

Sherlock looked away from the pictures of Molly’s corpse and studied John intensely. “I…Really, this isn’t right at all John! _None_ of this is right. Today, we were going after a criminal that was stalking a young woman. A young woman had hired me. My homeless network lead us to an abandoned factory. Where the criminal was hiding out…When we found him he hit me with a metal pipe…Before that we were talking about Molly’s birthday party. She was alive and well! Not _this_. Never this! Not murdered! She was alive, John, just a little bit ago she was very much alive!”

 

John closed his eyes with a sigh. Hands on his hips, he sadly shook his head. He opened his eyes after a long minute to finally speak, “I’m a doctor of the body, Sherlock, not the mind. You’ve been known to delete things from your head and when you were knocked out…Perhaps you—“

 

“Deleted Molly’s death? Deleted her murder? Deleted the past **_three years_** from my head?” Sherlock snarled at him for being so bloody stupid!

 

“Perhaps…It’s temporary?” John questioned uncertainly.

 

“I would ** _never_** delete Molly, John! Alive or dead! Especially… _Especially_ if she was murdered! For I’d want to catch the bloody bastard first before the police caught him. I’d make him pay, John…Trust me, I **_will_** make him wish he was never born. I will make him hurt as I…My mind knows better than to screw with me!”

 

John gave him an odd, strange look. “Oh, right… _right_ …of course, no one messes with the great famous Sherlock Holmes, especially his own mind! Do you realize just how bat shit crazy that sounds?”

 

“It’s true! Something else is going on here, John…I just know it!” Sherlock attempted to inform him before tilting his head to say thoughtfully, “I notice that you’re not shocked or disgusted about me seriously hurting and quite possibly killing the bastard that did this to my Molly.”

 

John narrowed his eyes upon him. “No, I’m not shocked or disgusted. To be perfectly honest, I’ve always suspected that you wanted to find him before the police do…I admit that I understand, Sherlock, I really do. Do I agree with it? Well, I just think about what if that bastard had touched my Mary or my little girl. I know exactly who I’d want at my side should I ever cross that blasted line. Which is _you_ by the way. Just as I will always be there beside you as well I’d probably even help you if you’d let me.”

 

“The line always shifts, doesn’t it?” Sherlock whispered looking back at the pictures on the wall. Mostly at the picture of his pathologist…Of **_his_** Molly…She really was supposed to be alive, he felt no doubt about that…Really she was…Really, he never knew such certainty.

 

“The line always seems to, yes.” John responded softly with overwhelmingly honesty.

 

“Why isn’t this in the sitting room?” Sherlock asked just as softly. For an odd moment he felt very lost and confused…

 

“Because of Mrs. Hudson… She’d start to weep whenever she’d see it for she had known Molly and liked her…So one day you moved it into your bedroom and closed the door. From that moment you always closed the door. At least your sock index is completely safe from her. Me…Well, I still look through your stuff when I feel it’s necessary. For lately you have been depending upon that blasted needle way too much!”

 

“So…In other words my sock index is never safe, at least not from you.” Sherlock said, almost finding humor in this ridiculous conversation. Almost anyway, for it didn’t remove him from his dark mood, which sadly could easily lead him into an even darker depression.

 

“Yes, especially when you do something seriously to piss me off. It’s how I even the score with you.” John confided in him.

 

“Wait, you actually keep score?” Sherlock asked seeing his best friend in a completely new light.

 

“No, actually, it’s just how I get my giggles in.” With that said, John moved over to Sherlock’s dresser to where he kept his socks. Opening it and with both hands he messed everything up, quickly and efficiently, before slamming the drawer shut.

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but stare at him in horror. “That will take me hours to fix.”

 

“Well…At least, you won’t be bored.” John said with a small smile.

 

Sherlock slowly blinked at him before saying, “I believe I haven’t been bored for quite a long time.”

 

The smile faded from John’s face.

 

“Yeah, you’re right; you have been more obsessed than bored.” John told him after a beat.

 

Sherlock reached out to lightly touch the horrible picture of Molly before asking, “So, some bastard really killed Molly Hooper, John, _my_ Molly?”

 

Wishing his best friend would suddenly, ‘SURPRISE! I fooled you, she’s not dead! HAHA!’ Sadly, that didn’t happen, sure he would have popped John in the nose but at least his Molly would be alive.

 

“Yes. There was no conspiracy. It was definitely her body.” John replied with great sorrow. “She was killed on her birthday so maybe that’s why your mind is…screwing with you. With this being the anniversary of her murder…”

 

As Sherlock paced up and down he kept looking at it, the large collage upon the wall…Looking at the other victims but mostly his eyes kept falling upon a pair of eyes that should have sparkled with life. They were suppose to sparkle with life! Heartache as well as dark horrible hot fury raced through him.

 

“Her birthday…Tell me, John was she killed after her party?” Sherlock asked softly. Trying desperately to remember, yet nothing was there. Absolutely nothing!

 

“Oh, Sherlock…” John whispered softly back. Heartbroken for his best friend…and the romantic part of him grieved over what might have been… _could have been_. Perhaps, just perhaps Molly and Sherlock would have been quite happy together… He forced himself to come back to the matter at hand and not spend it on pointless ‘what ifs’…

 

“Perhaps, Greg is right, Sherlock, let’s put this aside and come back to it at another time. Maybe with the next body Greg will indeed get the bloody bastard. Let’s take down this collage, shall we? We will wait until…until you remember on your own…”

 

“As you stated John, you heal the body not the mind. Now tell me what the _hell_ happened that night for it’s not written on here!”

 

“You never needed it written down for you knew _exactly_ what had happened, Sherlock!” John told him in aggravation, losing his slight grip on his patience.

 

“Well, I don’t know it **_now_** , do I?!” Sherlock shouted at him.

 

John’s face was hard as stone as he stated softly, “Perhaps there is a reason for that, hmm, Sherlock? Perhaps the great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t **_want_** to remember because deep down you never really cared for or about Molly to ever give a damn about finding her killer! Maybe you’ve been faking trying to find the bastard who murdered her. Not even really trying, for deep down I don’t think you ever really cared about Molly. You trusted her, sure, but she was just another person in your bloody network to manipulate and to use before discarding her until you felt you needed something from her once more. You, Sherlock, are no better than that worthless arse that killed her!”

 

In a blind fury, Sherlock moved to punch John in the face which his could easily be former friend must have expected for he moved quickly in a way that had the detective over shooting and with a well place hit from behind had him down on the floor.

 

He leaped up to get his hands around John’s neck just as Sherlock heard him ask, “So, that didn’t jar anything, huh? Shame.”

 

Luckily, Sherlock wasn’t too far gone not to understand his friend’s calm words. He had said those cruel words on purpose in the attempt to force him to remember. Sherlock still wanted to hurt him as John continued, as he danced way from him each time Sherlock attempted to get his hands on him. “I simply took a chance, Sherlock! I said some things that Mycroft had said to you once right before you went ape shit on him…Sure, I thought you were going to kill him…but it worked, got you out of that deep depression you had been in after Molly’s death…So, I thought…saying those horrid and untrue things might make you remember…Sadly, it looks like it didn’t…Simply pissed you off…”

 

“You **bastard**!” Sherlock exclaimed heatedly.

 

John finally stopped moving to calmly shrug, yet with a strange tenderness in his normally kind in his eyes he said honestly, “I’ve been called much, much worse.”

 

“You **_bloody_** bastard!”

 

“Okay, now you’re not even trying…” John informed him calmly.

 

“Come over here and smash your stupid face into my fist!”

 

“Gee, lovely invitation really, but no.” John grew quite serious. “I’m sorry Sherlock, really I am.”

 

Anger, Sherlock’s fury had left him, leaving behind an empty shell. He suddenly felt like an extremely broken man. A puppet cut from its string. He wasn’t use to feeling this way. Broken…Empty…Lost. It wasn’t right…everything…Molly’s death…all these _feelings_ …Everything was so very, very wrong!

 

Sherlock sat heavily upon the end of his bed. His gray stormy eyes focused on the picture of Molly Hooper’s dead face. His Molly’s face…

 

“So am I, John, sorry…” Sherlock said in a raw whisper, before swallowing hard, he waved a hand towards his wall, for once hating a collage he had made with a fiery passion. “Don’t I have a picture of Molly that’s not…”

 

This…

 

Sherlock broke off before saying that simple word. He wanted a picture of her where she wasn’t dead. Where she was alive and smiling…okay, she didn’t have to be smiling…As long as those dark eyes of hers were no longer lifeless…Where there was that special lovely sparkle that always seemed to be there... _Had_ always been there. For that sparkle of life…She never once tried to hide it even as she worked on the bodies before her upon her metal slab…

 

“Yeah…” John answered softly, “In one of your pockets…You are never without it.”

 

It took a matter of seconds to find the small picture John had spoken of. Looking at it, his eyes suddenly felt suspiciously wet. Ashamed and angry, furious really, with himself, the world and the hideous killer who had permanently removed Molly from his life…

 

With his other hand, which was now shaking slightly, he covered his eyes in hopes to stop any foolish, truly ridiculous tears…It would be pointless and so very stupid to cry. The last time he had cried was when his beloved Redbeard had died…

 

John’s hand fell gently upon his shoulder, in a quiet attempt at giving comfort.

 

“How…” Sherlock asked weakly and to be completely honest for once, only this once, his voice sounded pitiful and completely small. “How do I fix this, John? How do I make everything right once more? How? Please tell me…how…”

 

The only answer Sherlock received was an odd, yet painful silence.

 

~*~End of Part 3~*~

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you everyone for the lovely comments and kudos, I honestly thought I'd only get one of each if lucky, so wow thank you for proving me wrong! 
> 
> And just a friendly reminder that Molly will end up with Sherlock in the end. Alive and well! I promise this has happy endings all around...
> 
> Though this part is very emotional.
> 
> Yet, if it helps to know that this story has a total of 6 chapters to it…I know I told one delightful reader it would be a 7chapters story, but I found myself moving some things around so part 5 wouldn’t be such a WTF moment! Though I was seriously tempted to leave it that way but decided to be nice. Plus, I liked it better how I now have it ended… You will understand better once I have it ready for you to read it and part six…OOOOhhh….Best not to say anymore! 
> 
> So, the heartache won’t be going on strong forever. There is a very much alive Molly being happily kissed by Sherlock at the end of all this…I swear!
> 
> So while reading this very emotional part please do keep in mind that a lovely happy ending will abound!
> 
> And now on to the story, yes?

~*~Given Time~*~

~*~Part 4~*~

_…surrender himself to complete rest if his wished to avert an absolute breakdown. The state of his heath was not a matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the treat of being permanently disqualified from work…_

-The Devil’s Foot by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock knew his best friend actually thought and believed with all his pure, brave heart that he was a man of great miracles but miracles were actually well timed and well placed illusions. Little tricks that seemed hard to explain to the overwhelmingly simple minded.

Yet, the one true miracle…Truly, impossible miracle that Sherlock wanted was for Molly Hooper to still be alive…

Was it really possible that he actually could delete close to three years of his life? Seriously? Sherlock honestly didn’t think so…He had an odd feeling that something else was at play. It was something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A true mastermind of a puzzle…

Really, why would he forget just three years, especially when it involved solving a murder…or murders…Surly, he wouldn’t forget when it came to an extremely important case…Never when it came to his Molly. In all honesty this was much more than a case. So much more…

Because of Molly…

Perhaps he was in a coma after being hit with that blasted pipe! Or…or maybe he was simply unconscious and at any moment he’d wake up from this bloody nightmare.

He could dimly remember Lestrade coming to him about a case that to him at the time didn’t seem at all that interesting…Really, a killer who only killed once a year? How silly, certainly not worth his time. The killer didn’t even have the decency to kill on the exact day; it was always during that one week period. Most interesting non-boring serial killers never waited a whole year to hunt and kill their next victim. Making Sherlock believe this killer was simply lazy.

Though the victims all had a certain delicate quality to them, all petite women and they had all been grabbed at night…to be found the next day among some rubbish bins in a dirty alley somewhere. Never once were they dumped in the same place. The police knew it was the same killer, for the worthless piece of excrement would always cut off two fingers with the same cutting tool. It seemed he froze the fingers and leave one finger from the last victim with the most recent…All the while keeping the other finger as some sort of sick blasted trophy!

And the thought that Molly, **_his Molly_** , was found naked among filthy rubbish in an alley, with her lovely fingers missing, tore savagely at him.

Now the killer had his attention… His _full_ attention at that!

Before Molly became his victim, Sherlock would have left the once a year killer pretty much alone unless he had entered into his ‘I’m bored, so bored, must find something to do!’ stage.

Perhaps if he had accepted the case earlier, before the killer laid hands upon his Molly…Maybe she would still be alive…Maybe…

Still the killer would pay…Sherlock would make sure of that.

Surely, no sane criminal would want the famous, legendary Sherlock Holmes after them. With his fantastic art of deduction that sometimes almost seems super human and his endless crazy energy with his dogged determination that can lead so very easily into obsession…Sure, he had his outstanding resources, be those resources his friends, his homeless network or his archenemies aka his dear highly annoying brother who just so happened to be the British Government.

Yet, no matter how powerful his brother was, Mycroft couldn’t bring Molly Hooper back from the dead. Sure, he could start and end wars. Be the British Government and the smartest man in the world. He could even fly a silly helicopter and perhaps even fly his own private jet. He could easily make terrorists pee themselves but he couldn’t give Sherlock back his Molly. Making him, in Sherlock’s opinion, pretty damn worthless to be perfectly honest…

In fact, Sherlock felt the need to inform him of this the moment he showed up at Baker Street.

Mycroft cocked his head to study him with a cold emotionless gaze. A normal look for him actually. There was a long moment before something that just might have been concern flashed within those intelligent, secretive eyes.

“So, is it true what John has told me? That you have brain damage?” He asked his brother quietly…almost well, carefully…

“Seriously, you called my brother?!” Sherlock said as he glared at John, who was sitting calmly in his chair having himself a lovely cuppa. He totally ignored the glare to say gravely, “Of course, I called your brother because even if he’s a prick and quite possibly the biggest ass hat in the universe, he cares deeply for you.”

“I do, you know, brother mine, care _very_ deeply.” Mycroft stated with absolutely no emotion in his voice. Eyes watching him carefully as if Sherlock was an escaped jungle cat out of his cage…

“You actually told my brother that I am brain damaged?” Sherlock asked feeling more than a bit betrayed. He was in no way brain damaged! Sure, perhaps he a damaged, hurting heart but his brain was still amazing!

“No.” John said simply.

“Actually, he said that you badly hit your head and was having a hard time remembering…certain…things.” Mycroft informed him, his expression had softened as well as his eyes. Intense sadness was there. Sherlock knew exactly what those ‘certain things’ were. Yet, sadness wasn’t the only thing within his brother’s eyes…It had taken him a second to recognize it…

Pity. Sherlock’s hands curled into tight fists. No, that had better not be _pity_ he was witnessing from his brother. Never that! He didn’t want or need **_pity_**! Especially from his brother! What the hell did Mycroft know about sorrow? What did he honestly know of another’s suffering? How dare _he_ pity _him_!

“The words, ‘bat shit crazy’ may have been uttered…” John muttered, “But I said it with all the love that I have in my heart for you.”

“I am **_not_** bat shit crazy simply because everything is wrong! **_EVERYTHING_** , John! There is a very strong chance that I’m in a horrible nightmare and all I have to do is wake the hell up!”

For an older man, seven years older to be precise, Mycroft Holmes could move quite swiftly when circumstances called for it. His closed brolly struck him quite hard on the back of Sherlock’s leg.

“OW! That hurt, you bastard!”

“Both of our parents are married, as you well know, Sherlock. Now…Would you like me to give you another little love tap? Hmm? Just to make certain you are wide awake, of course…” Mycroft offered carelessly and with a slight smile upon his face as if he was a pleasant host offering up some tea and biscuits.

“Piss off! You are a worthless piece of excrement!” Sherlock snarled, darkly glaring at his very calm and oh so elegant brother. Who actually looked as if he had absolutely no care in the world. Seriously, how dare he look that way when his Molly was dead.

Mycroft simply stared at him for what seemed to be an eternity before saying softly, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”

He then moved gracefully to Sherlock’s chair beside the fireplace. Placing his brolly off to the side he sat down, crossing his legs and placing his hands together to rest them upon his dark vest covered stomach. Clearly stating that he was going to remain here for a while, no matter how much Sherlock glared at him or how he was treated. He was s statue standing firm while a violent storm promised to break all kinds of hell around him.

“So…” Mycroft continued as he looked at John as if he needed confirmation, “my dear sweet brother has no memory of the _last three years_? Really?”

John nodded taking a long sip of his tea to give a sigh of happiness at its tasty goodness.

This all went on as Sherlock simply watched, seriously wanting to punch someone and seeing that his annoying older brother was here and his hands were already tightened into fists…Really, why waste such an opportunity?

Before he could do such an action, Mycroft’s sharp gaze went back to Sherlock as he demanded, “What **_exactly_** do you remember?”

“John and I were at an abandoned factory looking for a criminal who just so happened to be stalking a young lady who asked for my help. Her father, a policeman, had put him in a jail cell years earlier, long before her father’s death this spring. Anyway, we found him and he just so happened to find my head with a metal pipe.”

“Something like that did happen years ago. I think he’s the chap I may have beaten with his very own pipe…and…perhaps I broke his leg…if my memory serves correctly…” John said softly, his eyes clearly stated he was lost in a memory.  “I was so worried, there for a moment. You laying there so pale and motionless… I thought that you just might be dead, then I made you open your eyes and…and you were right as rain! Damn it all though if you didn’t use that hit on the head as an excellent excuse to miss Mol—“

He stopped whatever he had been about to say clearly deciding that it wouldn’t be at all wise. He attempted to cover it by taking a long sip of his tea as if he was quite thirsty.

Sherlock blinked at his best friend, knowing full well what he had been about to say. It had given him one hell of a good excuse to miss Molly’s birthday party. A party that at the time he seriously hadn’t intended to go to anyway.

He noticed that John seemed determined _not_ to look at him.

Mycroft didn’t worry himself with such trifles as he looked over at his brother and said what was perhaps best to leave unsaid. “Oh, Dr. Hooper’s infamous party, yes? So, you remember her clearly being alive. Well, happy memories, I’m sure. Bet if feels as if you saw her just yesterday, hmm?”

John shot Mycroft a look of caution. Even statues in a storm could fall.

Mycroft lifted his chin proudly, “But don’t fret, I’m sure given time all those memories will come rushing back and if you think about it, this might end up being a good thing. You have a chance at looking at this with fresh new eyes or perhaps, this is a grand opportunity to give up this silly case that has taken up your life for the last three years. Give it up and move on.”

“Molly Hooper is not some _silly_ case, Mycroft!” Sherlock informed him angrily.

“What else is she other than dead?” Mycroft said in a low cold voice. “Life does go on, brother mine, hers no longer does. All lives are lost at some point…it’s really only a matter of time…Even her killer will one day die, be it old age, in a jail cell or even by your own hand.”

“Get out, Mycroft, **_now_**.” Sherlock’s voice was so soft it seemed to be shouting with the greatest of menace.

Mycroft stood and took some steps towards him to continue, his voice still quite low as he totally disregarded his brother’s wishes. “All hearts get broken, Sherlock, even men like us get broken hearts.”

“What the hell do you know about broken hearts?” Sherlock asked with apparent disdain and with a nasty snarl.

With a firm hand, Mycroft reached out and took Sherlock’s wrist and with his other hand tore at the bottom of his cuff to savagely move his brother’s sleeve up. The both looked at Sherlock’s pale arm that was covered with faded old and new marks.

“You break my heart _constantly_.” Mycroft hissed angrily.

Sherlock jerked his wrist out of his brother’s surprisingly strong grip and shoved his sleeve back down. Mycroft’s face once more became emotionless as if nothing could ever bother him.

For some reason Sherlock was tempted to ask Mycroft if he’d like to try some. Knowing full well that offer would make matters quite worse. Not that he cared…No, he didn’t care at all…Yet he didn’t say the words…Didn’t offer his brother a needle…

“I do apologize.” Mycroft stated with a wave of a graceful hand. Not really sounding sorry at all. “John has warned me countless times that you don’t like it when I speak of your dearly departed Molly.”

“And there you go again! Poking the tiger.” John muttered. “For being such a smart man, you seriously never learn, do you?”

Mycroft honestly looked confused, “I apologized!” He told John as if he had blinked and totally missed his not so heartfelt sounding apology. He said it in a way that made one think his apology meant something and perhaps for such a prideful man it honestly did.

“Well, you are about to get your hawk like nose popped and now Sherlock is reliving all those emotions again! He went bat shit crazy then too…Now, we lucky few get to experience it once more, yay us!” John replied wearily, as if he was certain that he was in for a long dreadful night. Yet, when he finally looked over at Sherlock there was compassion within those tired, kind eyes.

“I’m not bat shit crazy, John, do stop saying that!” Sherlock announced still wanting to violently hit someone, mostly his brother.

“Actually,” Mycroft began nonchalantly, “what happened is that he fell into a deep black depression that there seemed to be no escape from. Really, John, you know you have a huge responsibility to your best friend and therefor you must do your very best to keep him from falling back into old familiar ways.”

“Me?! Bloody hell, why don’t you ask me to keep the sun from rising tomorrow?” Now it wasn’t only Sherlock glaring at Mycroft, but John was joining in on the fun as well.

“Now, why would I ask that? You are staying the whole night, of course. Perhaps even into late morning…” Mycroft replied with a slight frown.

“I do have a wife and a child at home, Mycroft, as well as a job to go to in the morning. Must make a living unlike you.” John reminded him a little impatiently.

“No.” Sherlock’s brother stated with a cold icy disdainful glance.

“Okay, there are two things I believe you really need to know.” John decided to blurt out impatiently. “First, I was planning to stay here with him anyway, seeing that my lovely wife had granted me permission, so you really must stop telling me what to do for it’s really annoying as hell.”

“And the second thing?” Mycroft asked as he went from total ice man to a bit chilly which surprisingly was a vast improvement for the man…

“You are a total ass hat.” John stated calmly, slowly without any humor what so ever.

Yet, Sherlock barked out a laugh before he went to his chair and flopped down into it as he decided to add to their conversation. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

John studied him before saying quietly, “You need something, Sherlock, and what you need doesn’t come out of a blasted needle.”

What he really needed was for Molly to be alive. He simply needed his Molly. This world, his so called world wasn’t right with her removed so permanently from it. No, it wasn’t right at all…

Sherlock sighed before speaking, “Put your worries off to the side! I’m not going to use a needle not even a seven-percent solution. At the moment, I’m simply trying to understand…Molly is dead, John and she’s not supposed to be dead! Nearly three years are now gone from my head…” Sherlock can his hands through his dark curls. “I don’t…I don’t remember Molly’s murder and what I do remember of her isn’t enough!”

“What—“ John attempted to day before Mycroft cut him off.

“Memories of his Molly, John…Sherlock doesn’t have enough memories of _her_ yet he knew her for years! He simply doesn’t have enough memories of her alive…or of her _with him_.” Mycroft sounded quite arrogant and without a single care in the world before continuing, “In which case, Sherlock, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sherlock jerked his head up and sneered at his older brother, his tone quite glacial, “Don’t you have a war to start somewhere or something?”

“Not today, no.” For a moment Mycroft actually sounded a bit regretful. “However, I believe I do have an important meeting with the DMI, though I’m sure the talk won’t be about war.”

“Right, of course, I’m certain the Director of Military Intelligence will simply want to talk about crap telly with you.” Sherlock stated with high sarcasm.

Mycroft sighed, “Sadly, I don’t think he will, however, I know he _will_ talk about some silly baking show he absolutely loves and takes great pleasure in pretending everyone else around him likes it too…The Great Bake Off or something…”

“Oh, I think I know which one you are talking about! In the next episode they will be having the cupcake finals! I’m really hoping that Sally will win but then Violet is pretty damn talented so she could easily-“ John suddenly cut off what he was saying as he noticed both Holmes brothers looking at him as if _he_ was the one who was bat shit crazy and not Sherlock.

“Um, never mind…” John quickly muttered before he picked back up his tea cup and started to sip once more.

Mycroft simply studied him as he took a deep breath before he announced, “Interesting John, though I am lying of course…”

“I know and I don’t care.” John said carelessly.

A corner of Mycroft’s mouth surprisingly quirked, “My dear brother has been a horrid influence on you.”

“I _still_ don’t care and at least he’s not an ass hat.”

Mycroft sighed once more and may have muttered a softly, “Such a lovely moment we are having.” All  this completely under his breath before asking Sherlock, “So, when you were brutality brain damaged…Answer this question for me, do you know what time this took place?”

“About 10:00 tonight.” John answered as Sherlock stated, “8:17 a.m.”

Both men shared a look, before Sherlock looked at his brother to ask, “Does that matter?”

Mycroft shrugged, looking as if he really didn’t care as he looked down at his left hand to wiggle his fingers as if something was indeed bothering him. “I thought it might but now…Who knows? Well, brother mine, you know how I like to have all the information before me…”

Sherlock stood up to move slowly towards his brother, “What do _you_ know about Molly’s death?” Sherlock demanded to know.

Mycroft stopped moving his fingers and looked into his brother’s eyes. Once more a flash of intense sadness as well as pity may have entered his cold eyes. “I know enough, brother dear. I know that one day Molly Hooper was alive and then the next her lifeless body was simply a specimen upon a cold metal slab that one heartless killer put there.”

Intense emotion washed over Sherlock and a pain truly excruciating stabbed at his normally hard and sometimes cold heart. The grief was real and it overwhelmed him.

“I also know that you, brother mine, **_loved_** her.” Mycroft continued softly and honestly, “And that is really all I can tell you.”

Sherlock jerked sharply away turning his back on both Mycroft and John’s sad yet extremely kind eyes.

“No, Mycroft, for love is abhorrent to my cold, precise and highly logical mind!”

“Then **_why_** do you care that some goldfish of a pathologist is dead? As of late, I find for you and sometimes buy you body parts that are donated to science…and some that are not…so you no longer need her for that! I can also give you access to any morgue in all of Britain. Yet, you grieve! You **_hurt_** , Sherlock! You rage about some killer who happens to weed out the surplus population only once a year! That killer stole her life, he killed her and it’s slowly been killing **_you_** for years now! Hers was not his first or his last victim! Yet you want him to pay dearly for what **_you lost_**! He permanently removed her from your life and you would do anything… ** _ANYTHING_** to have her in your life once more! You, Sherlock **_LOVED_** her and you loved her greatly! So do stop lying to yourself! Those close to you see it quite clearly. They even weep for you! If you really were so cold, precise and highly logical, brother mine then you would treat Molly Hooper’s death as if she had been nothing more than a violin to you! If someone went out and destroyed your violin, you’d go out and simply get another one. Perhaps even a better one! Over the years I offered you other fine pathologists that you could work with and you have refused violently. You only want **_your_** Molly, a stupid woman who loved you with all her heart and never once wanted to change you! A woman that you were too bloody stupid to realize that you loved in return until it was much too late but she’s dead, Sherlock, dead!” Mycroft said all of this with smoldering intensity as if there had been an emotional bomb that had been released within him.

Sherlock looked stunned and found himself breathing hard, his fists clenched once more all the while his emotions danced a wild, passionate tango within his own chest…

“Sentiment is found on the losing side.” Sherlock reminded him, his voice sounded weak even to his own ears and he felt far away…quite distant.

“In my old age I have learned that both sides need something worth fighting for and you…you lost greatly with Molly Hooper’s death.” Mycroft told him softly and Sherlock realized that his brother had moved closer to him. He didn’t touch him, of course, but Sherlock could feel his strong presence. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I really am.”

“You are wrong, Mycroft…you say I _loved_ her as if it’s in the past.” Sherlock finally turned back to look at him, eyes full of emotion before continuing, “It’s love, I **_still_** love her…I never once stopped and I honestly don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“I know that and you never will. You’ll continue to love her even when you breathe your last breath upon this earth, you’ll die loving her.” Mycroft confirmed softly and sadly. There was a brief flash of intense grief upon his face, so quick one could easily miss it.

They both became quiet as Sherlock turned away once more, this time to move towards the window to look out. He knew out there was a killer he needed to hunt down and destroy…Though Lestrade was correct, wasn’t he? The worthless arse’s death wouldn’t bring back his Molly…The murderer’s death wouldn’t make the world right once more.

Molly… ** _His Molly_** …He, Sherlock Holmes, was in love with her and he couldn’t even _tell_ her, show her…Oh, he had known she had loved him, of that he had absolutely no doubt, at the time finding it silly and something useful so he could manipulate and get what he thought he needed at the time. Now he simply wanted her alive…safe in his arms and he, stupid fool that he was had lost his chance. He had chosen to ignore her love for him…and somehow missed the fact that he loved her in return…He now knew what regret really was. John had tried to warn him but like a child told another sweetie would ruin supper he refused to listen, to pay attention to the most precious thing in his life…His Molly.

So now he had lost her, not to another man, for another man he could fight. Even the great Sherlock Holmes knew he couldn’t fight death. Death was much too permanent.

Now he was left feeling lost and empty, he didn’t even have enough memories storied and treasured within his mind palace…

He never once tasted her lips or held her in his arms. Hell, never once had he held her small hand innocently in his. He never once felt her warm smooth skin under his fingertips. Studied any freckles or small scars upon her body…

He had never learned what could have made her moan in pleasure. No there was no memory of _any_ of those things inside his head…He should have them, really, and it was so very wrong not to have experienced life with his Molly…

There weren’t enough memories…memories he wanted…He had plenty of her smiling at him…even laughing but even they weren’t enough! Never enough…

His Molly had yearned for him to love her in returned yet had settled for simply being his trusted friend.

Now for a man who once had no regrets, he now had many…

What could have been…

What might have been…

Oh, if only…He hadn’t been such a bloody fool…

From behind him, Sherlock dimly heard Mycroft pick up his umbrella. He was going to be leaving soon. Leave him in John’s steadfast hands.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft began, “It’s a shame you two were never a couple. I’m quite certain that our Mummy would have loved her.”

Sherlock continued to stare out the window not really seeing anything. London, its people moved about with what seemed to be without a single care. No concern at all. His Molly was dead and gone…and for them life went on. They were all to focused on the here and now, needing to go somewhere. While he was stuck in a dark abyss without the one person he wanted by his side…

“Can you tell me…” Mycroft continued ever so softly, “Were you trying to be noble or something?”

Sherlock turned away from the window to silently study him. His brother carried forward his line of questioning, “I’ve always been curious, you see…Were you attempting to protect Molly Hooper in some silly, honorable way, thinking your life style would place her in danger? Or, perhaps, you thought she deserved better even if you were the man she wanted to be with…wanted to love and be loved by…Why, brother, did you never…”

A long silence fell for what seemed to last for eternity before Sherlock finally answered honestly, “I never did because…because I always miss _something_ and now it’s much too late.”

Mycroft nodded sadly in understanding, “Well, I must get going but, um, when you feel up to it…I do miss us playing with a nice board game…Operation or even Cluedo…or something…I miss it all really…” He admitted the last part quite softly and for a moment he looked quite old and so very lonely.

“Not today, Mycroft.” Sherlock said.

Any illusion of loneliness shattered as Mycroft instantly became an iceberg.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be today. _Never today_.” Mycroft said the last two words with great emotion even if his face seemed to be carved from stone. Then with perfect manners he told John goodbye and to call him whenever he deemed it necessary…and with that he was gone.

Silence once more followed and Sherlock gazed at John. His best friend carefully set down his saucer and cup of tea. Though Sherlock doubted that there was much tea, if any, left in that cup.

“So…” John started to rub his knees with his hands. “What do you want to do?”

What a question! He wanted to hold his Molly, tell her that he loved her…

Instead he did the only thing he could do. Find her killer.

“Fresh eyes…” Sherlock stated, watching John. “I need to look at this with fresh, new eyes! More importantly through _your eyes_!”

John’s eyes widened even more when Sherlock moved swiftly towards him to suddenly kneel down in front of him…Sherlock placed his hands on top of John’s…

“Tell me everything, John! The way you saw it, your experiences, your thoughts on that night, don’t leave anything out! Think back to the night of Molly’s death. Start with her birthday party…” Sherlock desperately begged. “Tell me **_everything_** that you can remember, please John, **_EVERYTHING_**!”

John sighed as he closed his eyes and when he finally opened them once more, he said, sounding truly heartbroken, “Sherlock…there was **no** birthday party…For Molly never showed up.”

~*~End of Part 4~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, your comments and kudos keep me typing…Thank you so much, you are all so awesome and wonderful…
> 
> No matter what you all keep me typing! Thank you so very much…

~*~Given Time~*~

~*~Part 5~*~

_‘What did you think of him?’_

_‘A pathetic, futile, broken creature.’_

_‘Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow-misery.’_

_-_ The Retired Colourmanby Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

John had shared what he knew about the night Molly died and what had happened the next day and the days after that…

He shared his thoughts on the other victims from the Once A Year Killer.

After a while Sherlock had stood up as if he was quite an old man. The only time he had spoken was to cut in sharply to severely remind him that he wasn’t writing a blog but talking to _him_!

When John had finished he seemed to instantly shadow him as Sherlock walked ever so slowly to his bedroom to study, silently, the collage upon his wall. He calmly took down the picture of Molly, who lay so wrongly upon the slab, off the wall and not caring if he wrinkled it as he shoved it into his trouser pocket. He took a step back to study the collage once more.

It was a moment after this that he demanded that John find all his files on the serial killings, knowing instantly that they would be close by and they were for John handed them over within seconds.

Sherlock ignored him so John found a chair to sit in and picked up one of Sherlock’s random books while he waited…For what exactly neither knew for sure…

So time pasted and finally Sherlock cursed and John’s red, tired eyes looked up from his book. Sherlock took out his phone and sent a text to his brother before tossing his phone onto his bed.

“Molly was a woman of habits. Pretty much _all_ of these women had habits.”

“Habits?” John asked.

“Habits, John! Habits! Most of them, even Molly, always took the same route home. Many have always been different times but it was always the same. Molly would sometimes stop for take away but still…”

“She didn’t stop for take away that night.” John reminded him carefully. “She was meeting Mary and I at the restaurant where her surprise party was to take place.”

“Right, but Molly had called to warn you that she might be a bit late for she needed to go home and quickly change.”  Sherlock stated without any expression what so ever.

“Yeah, for she said she had spelt something ‘yucky’ on her trousers and she also wanted to check on Toby anyway…” John confirmed.

“Yet, there is no proof that she ever made it home from work. CCTV camera’s show her leaving Bart’s but never making it to her flat. John, she never once in all her years living in her flat did she _ever_ change her route for she felt safe and comfortable with it…So why would she ever change it?”

“It’s doubtful that she ever did…So, what exactly is your point?” John asked politely.

“He watches them…From the point of where they work, to where they go home. He might even take the same route as his victims over and over again…Get his victims use to seeing him. A slight smile of ‘hello’ every now and them…Yet, he seems harmless. Seems to live in the same neighborhood, one might not know their neighbors personally but we has humans do take notice before allowing them to blend into the background. One day he decides to go up to them, perhaps with a silly problem, asks for help…Familiar face. Nothing is seriously wrong and Molly being nice…She would have been helpful and quite nice towards a stranger especially one that seemed to be a familiar face from her neighborhood, yes? So, someone all the victims had seen…Perhaps that is what gives the killer a thrill, he is hunting yet his victims don’t know that…” Sherlock finally stated in a tight voice before continuing, “My Molly is always so very _nice_ , friendly and helpful to others, John, always…”

“Was…” John corrected sadly, “She _was_ always nice, friendly and helpful to others.”

Sherlock nodded as he swallowed hard, he refused to look in John’s way as profound intense emotions hit him hard.

“I think…” Sherlock attempted to say before stopping to try and find his voice once more. “I think I focused for too much on where their bodies were found, John, instead of focusing on _where_ the victims were taken.”

“But some of the women, we have no idea where they were taken.”

“Right…but I asked my brother to look at something for me and to use facial recognition…See what man was always there at all the victims routes…”

“Sherlock! This is London, remember! That will take forever if not months perhaps years!”

“It will be easier if one looked at all the routes days before the bastard killed as well as on.”

“Sherlock…”

“He stalked and killed my Molly!” Sherlock finally shouted, highly annoyed with his best friend and with life in general. “My Molly is dead because of him! Because I allowed her to slip into this monster’s hands! So, let my brother take months perhaps years on the back dated CCTV—“

“Sherlock…” John attempted to cut in once more.

“I know it won’t bring her back, John, don’t you think I know this! That it stabs at me like a knife! I love her, John! And…and I’m feeling lost without her…I can’t understand why I…I didn’t realize all this before. Why didn’t I just take Molly to her blasted birthday party!?”

His phone went off and Sherlock ignored it, too caught up in his own mental heartfelt sorrow.

John stood up and took some steps to reach out for Sherlock’s phone. He held it in his palm and breathed in a sharp breath…

“It’s Mycroft.”

Sherlock turned and looked at him as John continued…

“He’s sending a huge file to your phone as well as a text that says ‘Given time perhaps certain wrongs can be corrected. As long as you don’t screw it all up, brother mine, oh and do be more careful while running. Love, Mycroft’…I-I don’t understand. What does he mean? Plus, he never signs off his texts with ‘love’.”

Sherlock reached out and jerked the phone savagely out of John’s hand. He opened the file and scanned through everything quite quickly.

“He found him, John! My brother was useful for once and found Molly’s killer!”

“Wait…That…That should have taken much longer, I know he’s the British government but really it should have taken much longer than this! Something is wrong! Very wrong!” John stated truly bewildered.

“Finally! You are starting to feel it too!” Sherlock carelessly tossed over his shoulder. Attempting to keep his eyes on his phone, studying the contents in the file. “He even has the bastard’s name and where he lives…He even has the exact time he had talked to Molly upon the street…Even the street all this took place on…Come on, John, let’s go, the game is on!”

“Sherlock…”

“Make sure you bring your gun!” Sherlock told his friend as he rushed out of his room and out of his flat...

His fingers were busy upon his phone as his flew down his stairs. Now, he was a man quite familiar with his stairs. He knew the exact number, recognized the sound when anyone’s footstep would fall upon it. He noticed the years of wear upon them and could instantly tell when another new spot appeared. But what he hadn’t noticed, for sadly, he does always miss something is that was a small rag upon those very familiar steps of his. A small thing really. Mrs. Hudson had it in her pocket earlier and it had slipped out unnoticed.

It wasn’t until his foot slipped on it that Sherlock finally noticed it and with that his body went tumbling, falling, rolling violently down the stairs. Surprisingly, Sherlock suddenly found himself watching all this with completely wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth. He continued to watch helplessly as this all happened and he heard a fatal crack as his body came to rest carelessly upon the floor.

Sherlock blinked, not really understanding all this and its meaning. That was him, he knew it was without a doubt, yet he was right here. Frozen on the stairs near a small cleaning rag…

“SHERLOCK!”

He turned as John shouted his name and ran towards his body…John ran right _through_ him not past him and he didn’t feel a bloody thing!

He, Sherlock Holmes, was dead and he always firmly believed that he criminal element would do him in not his own stairs at 221B Baker Street or Mrs. Hudson’s old villainous cleaning rag…

He was surprised to notice that John and his own body upon the floor, broken phone at his side, seemed to be slowly fading away…Or perhaps _he_ was what was fading away.

Sherlock didn’t believe in life after death but if he did…He’d want to see his beautiful Molly and tell her all that he had failed to tell her while both of them lived…

Yet, that wasn’t meant to be, no matter how much he loved her and wished things had been quite different.

Finally, a lonely, cold darkness over powered him…not that he was really even fighting this moment for he had lost too much with Molly’s death and was ready to be gone from this world…A world that seemed so very wrong.

He really was lost without her…

With Molly upon his mind and always in his heart…

He and the world faded way into complete nothingness…

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

“Sherlock! Sherlock! Come on, mate, open those eagle sharp eyes of yours…”

Sherlock now heard John’s voice quite clearly through the completely dark nothingness…Except it wasn’t a complete nothingness after all. He was laying on an old dirty smooth cement floor and damn it all if his head didn’t hurt like the time that bitch, ‘the woman’ beat him savagely with a riding crop.

Sherlock couldn’t help but groan…

“Sherlock…Come on, open your eyes.” He heard John once again order. “Open them and tell me how many fingers I’m holding up!”

“I don’t need to open them for I’m quite certain you are giving me the bird!” Sherlock told his doctor as well as his best friend weakly. Keeping them closed for the time being. “I’m dead, John. Truly dead, the criminal world can now rejoice for Sherlock Holmes is dead!”

“Oh, do stop being such a bloody drama queen and open your blasted eyes!”

Sherlock groaned once more for effect as he attempted to sit up and he felt John carefully help him.

Damn, seriously his head hurt! His hand went to the side of his head and everything suddenly became still as he thought of Molly and everything that had happened. He slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey, when did you get a bump on the back of your head?” John asked lightly touching the back of your head?” John asked as he lightly touched the back of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock hissed, “OW! Just stop touching me! This is how all those funny rumors started about our deeply meaningful relationship got started!”

Suddenly, the legendary consulting detective’s eyes narrowed upon his dearest friend. For John was wearing blue jeans as well as a red and blue buttoned down shirt, along with his nice black jacket.

Plus, he knew instantly that they were in an old familiar abandoned factory. Bright morning light attempted to peek its way in through the extremely dirty small windows…

The man who had hit him so savagely with a metal pipe lay still upon the ground. It didn’t take a genius such as himself to know that John much have taken him out, perhaps with his own pipe. The criminal they had sought was very much alive yet was simply down for the count. Even unconscious, his hands were cuffed behind his back and it looked as if the man’s leg was broken.

Ah, yes, Sherlock’s favorite doctor…Who could be, oh so, very kind angel of tender mercy one minute and turn instantly into a hardened, take absolutely no prisoners, of a solder of hell the next. Perhaps that is one of the reasons Mary had fallen in love with him.

Sherlock knew that wasn’t the reason he considered John his best friend. He respected the fact John was a doctor and a soldier but mostly they were friends because John was always loyal, good and never once thought of him as a freak like so many other people he had met in his life. Sherlock seemed to know instantly that this man generally cared and liked him, even enjoyed his many talents as well as their countless adventures even when Sherlock seemed to effortlessly annoy him at times.

Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulders hard. “John…Molly…My Molly, she’s alive!?”

John blinked at him a bit dumbfounded and perhaps completely surprised. “Well…yeah…”

“It’s her birthday, John, she’s alive and it’s her birthday!” Sherlock repeated in wonder. He attempted to stand but fell down, feeling a bit weak though quite joyful. His second attempted at standing was more successful with John carefully watching and at the ready should he fall…

“Yeah, and now it looks like you have a damn fine excuse not to take Molly to her birthday party, you right bastard.” John accusingly pointed towards Sherlock’s head wound. As if he had purposely hit his head with a metal pipe to get out of going to Molly’s party.

The look that entered Sherlock’s eyes would have scared the devil himself in its determination; however, it had no effect on John.

“No, I’m not going to miss Molly’s party, John.”

“W-What…Wait, you’re not?”

“How can I miss her party if I’m the one taking her to it?” Sherlock asked him calmly as if that should have been quite obvious all along, so obvious in fact that a simple minded fool would have noticed it.

“I…um, think I need to take a better look at that head wound.” John said carefully, eyeing him worriedly.

“Oh, my head is fine,” Sherlock waved a hand as if his wouldn’t didn’t really matter at all. “Yes, a bit of a headache but nothing a couple of tablets won’t cure.”

He suddenly froze and his hand went to his trouser pocket. Slowly as if something deadly might be in there…His hand felt and pulled out a badly wrinkled photograph…

As he looked at it, Sherlock gasped and a fist came instantly up to his mouth. This was proof…Proof that everything he had witnessed, experienced had been real! All of it, that world that Sherlock had been certain was wrong had been quite real!

“Sherlock…What’s wrong?” John asked cautiously.

Sherlock swallowed hard as wild emotion overwhelmed him. His fist moved away from his face and he slowly, oh so slowly smiled. A big, lovely quite beautiful smile!

“Nothing, John…” He breathed, “Absolutely nothing. Everything is **_right_** once more…”

This was proof that he could indeed fix things. He could now make the world, his world, right! He could have the life that he was meant to have. The life he wanted…and he wanted to love his Molly…so he would do just that! He’d also have to be careful running down the stairs and watch for dastardly assassin cleaning rags.

John leaned over curiously to get a look at the picture Sherlock held, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “It’s a picture of an empty slab.”

Oh, once more, John could be so obvious!

Molly was alive! He would indeed make things **_right_** , they would be made _right_! He’d have to go and tell her of his love and his intentions to woo her, court her, right and proper!

“Yes, this picture, John, is the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen in my life!” Sherlock informed him honestly. His heart beat with excitement and his eyes and heart yearned to see her.

The look John gave him clearly stated that he thought his friend was crazy. That thought was perhaps confirmed when in his moment of rare overwhelming happiness he, a man who really didn’t like hugging, unless he gave a rare hug to his mummy or sometimes to Mrs. Hudson…Sherlock grabbed  him into a tight quick hug.

When Sherlock let John go he began to say in a quick brisk manner, “I have a lot to do, so very much to do, John…Mostly, it all involves Molly, so I really must leave you to take care of this criminal rubbish and I will hand Lestrade a serial killer, who I would personally torture and even kill him but really I do have a lot on my plate as it is. Plus, if the man is in Lestrade’s hands then he will _never_ touch Molly…He tortured her yet never raped her…Oddly, enough a lot of killers dump their victims and take their victims clothes off to poor bleach or other chemicals on them in hopes to ruin trace evidence or even the killer’s DNA…Still his killing ending a year ago for after tonight he won’t be killing ever again…And just look at the time!  I have much to do, hand over a serial killer and I must talk to your wife and break into Molly’s flat to get her some clean clothes and perhaps check on Toby, she’ll like that…I also need to get her a gift—WAIT! What did you get her from me?”

With wide eyes, John answered, “A cat pin.”

“ _A CAT PIN!?_ Really, _that_ is what you were planning to give to the love of my life!? A cat pin, _from me_! Seriously, John, what the hell is wrong with you? I honestly thought you were a romantic! How could I have been so blind? **_A CAT PIN?! REALLY!?_** ”

“I _am_ a romantic! It’s a _cute_ cat pin! It will look sweet with those jumpers she likes to wear. Molly will simply lo—wait! Did you just call her the love of your life!?”

“Of course, John, do keep up.” Sherlock shoved the picture back into his pocket as he continued, “You can keep my name on the gift, seeing that it’s already there but I really _must_ get her something with much more meaning than some stupid cat pin…Another reason I really must talk to Mary.”

“Mary? My wife, Mary?”

“Yes, John, your wife, Mary…Really, how many Marys do you know? She’s a well-known psychopath and yet she _loves_ you. The words ‘love’ and ‘psychopath’ don’t belong in the same sentence…Highly illogical! Yet, when it comes to you she loves you…” Sherlock informed him as if that alone fact explained everything. “I also need to tell Molly about my intentions for courting and wooing her. Molly really should be advised of this fact, yes? Wouldn’t want her to accidently cheat on me with another man, while dating her, for I would frown quite heavily on that sort of thing. So would she, for she is the loyal sort. As you can plainly see, I shall be quite busy! So, as I said before, do take care of this piece of rubbish, won’t you? That’s a good chap!”

At the end of all this Sherlock had pointed to the broken legged criminal, who was now moaning upon the ground, before he patted John’s arm. Then when he was done saying all of this, Sherlock swung around and began to walk away, saying to no one in particular, “I’ve had a completely _horrible_ day but at least it’s getting better!”

“He’s bat shit crazy…I simply knew it would happen one day and finally it has.” John whispered to himself.

“I am **_not_** bat shit crazy, John! Do stop saying that!” Sherlock yelled off in the distance before he disappeared completely into the bright day light.

With pain filled yes the bad guy looked pathetically up at John, he whimpered before saying, “Was…Was that the legendary hat detective Sherlock Holmes?”

John nodded, taking out his phone to call the police.

“Wow…I’ve heard of him but…but he wasn’t wearing _the_ hat, you know **_his hat_**.”

“Nope. He only wears that hat on special occasions and that is mostly in front of the cameras.” John informed him quite calmly as if completely use to this line of questioning.

“Oh…I really like that hat of his…Real shame he wasn’t wearing it…I’d have loved telling all my friends about how the legendary detective caught me while wearing his famous hat…” The man sounded quite wistful.

“Hmm…” John really didn’t care or have much use for the man’s silly fantasy.

“So…if he was Sherlock Holmes…that would make you his blogger, right? His _doctor_ friend, right?”

“That’s right.” John confirmed.

“Well, if you are a doctor, why the hell did you break my leg!?”

So very calmly, with no regret nor oddly enough any guilt, the kind and sometimes gentle Doctor John Watson responded simply, “I have bad days.”

~*~End of Part 5~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I’m working hard on the next part, the last part, honest…It’s a bit long, not too long, I could have easily cut it all into smaller parts…
> 
> But I want to have everything explained, most of you have already guessed it I’m sure…Plus, I and hopefully you as well want to see how Sherlock shows Molly how much he cares for her and the big kiss and her wrapped safely in his arms. Then the party, we should see a bit of Molly’s birthday party and a lovely shot of our lovely couple in the future…
> 
> So I best get typing then! Hope you enjoyed this, do have a wonderful day!
> 
> Oh, I was yelled at earlier by a reader who called my stories lame and much more, as well as me. Oh, well, perhaps that is true. This reader felt I should have done better with warnings as well as giving the fic a rape/non-con warning. Which confused me greatly for I never once said our killer raped her before he killed her. I had sadly heard recently about some killers do take off their victims clothes while they are being dumped in a field or alley, to destroy or get rid of later. Some killers as horrible as it is simply kill or the pleasure of it, at least according to one former FBI agent’s haunting book. And how police and other law informants have to remind themselves when finding a naked body does not mean it is a sexual crime. If there are others who felt I should have been clearer and placed a warning, I do apologize. I do remember saying Molly had been murdered and I feel that no murder is pleasant. And yes, her body was found naked near some rubbish but that does not mean rape had been involved...If anyone still wants me to place a warning I will be honored to do so. 
> 
> For I would have even put a condom warning for one lovely reader who felt uncomfortable with my talk of condoms in one of my stories. Instead I moved the rating up.
> 
> That said if you don’t like certain stories or writers than read something else, it’s amazingly easy thing to do…
> 
> Again have a good one!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the last part! I hope you are as excited about reading it as I am in writing it. 
> 
> The infamous happy ending, I have been promising it for a while now and here it is! Even if I’m the only one cheering, I’m quite happy about it.  
> Now, do me a favor and think about what you think Sherlock Holmes would give to the love of his life…Hmm, interesting…Wish I had thought of that…However this is what you get! 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all your encouragement and lovely comments… I keep sharing my stories with you because you are all so lovely and wonderful…I know I will never please everyone but those of you that are pleased I treasure greatly…
> 
> Now on to the end of the story!

 

~*~Given Time~*~

~*~Part 6~*~

_Women have seldom been an attraction to me, for my brain has always governed my heart, but…_

-The Lion’s Mane by Arthur Conan Doyle

_‘It is true that I loved this lady.’_

-The Lion’s Mane by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Somewhere in a highly classified, very secret government military compound Dr. Ray Ernest, truly brilliant scientist, studied the coolly elegant dressed white haired man, well what was left of his hair anyway, before him with joyful anticipation.

“Well…Mr. Holmes? D-Did i-it work?

Mycroft’s arctic eyes opened slowly to study the elderly scientist, who had spent over a decade creating…this…A complex machine in which his left hand was currently hooked to. Mycroft was a very smart man, smarter then most, but even he didn’t understand _how_ exactly this machine worked but he knew this machine was much too dangerous to continue its existence. 

“I believe so…” Mycroft stated coldly. “So, if something should happen to this machine…the time line that was changed would stay permanent, yes? The subject who had that future glimpse would remember it and if he wanted could still change it, _correct_?”

“It’s a theory, but yes, if one thinks about it one always changes something about their future even without this here machine. It’s their free will you see. I go to a restaurant and two things look good…I can only chose one…Or take this example, will I have a brownie later or not? My blood sugar is already quite high so it really wouldn’t be wise but…I will have an excuse to celebrate don’t I? So the likely hood is quite high that I will be eating that brownie but if I didn’t have this as my excuse…Highly doubtful that I will be eating it later. Also, that first time line has been erased, seeing that the subject remembers it, even if he thinks it was all a dream, it will have been erased. It’s up to him to remake the time line so to speak. He could easily make the time line the same but why should he?”

A small smile graced Mycroft’s face but it never once reached his eyes. “That’s nice, your _theories_ however…Well, you also believed that the subject I had chosen for this would suddenly be overwhelmed with three years of his life. Yet, he wasn’t…But I did show him what he needed to know. Hopefully, it will be enough to make him _want_ to change that time line. To change his future as well as his Molly’s…Sadly, I’ve never held much faith in my brother’s intelligence. Still, maybe the future will be better after this machine is long destroyed…Hopefully, he will still change what needs changing.”

“B-But why would the machine be destroyed? Nothing could ever happen to the machine, Mr. Holmes, it’s too perfect…Almost has a life of its own in some ways.”

As Dr. Ernest spoke Mycroft had been quickly typing something into the machine, still very much hooked up to it.

“Now you said that because I had turned this little nob in this direction my chosen subject and myself would remember that ghastly time line, both of us, yes?” Mycroft asked patiently as he turned the nob in the other direction.

“W-Well, y-yes, now the way you had turned it that way, however, will have the subject you choose…Well, he will never remember the correct time line, only _you_ for you are hooked up to the machine and the one in control. “

Mycroft nodded before sarcastically muttering, “Lovely. Now I’ve chosen a new subject…”

“Um…Sir?” Dr. Ernest finally asked actually sounding like a nervous little boy.

“Yes?”

“W-What are you doing?”

“My past self is talking to you, Ray, you don’t mind if I call you Ray, do you?” Mycroft asked calmly.

“N-No…Sir…” Ray’s eyes were wide with utter stupefaction. “Um…W-Why are y-you doing this?”

Mycroft’s wrinkled face was expressionless. “This is _not_ a toy, Ray; no one should change the unchangeable…Or even carry such power, _ever_. The past makes us, all of us; it’s even part of who we are! Be the history book a well-placed lie or a bitter truth.”

“B-But, Mr. Holmes! You just changed the past…Your brother’s past and you are changing my past just this very minute!”

“Yes, and I accept that I could end up bitterly regretting it! There are many things that I have done in my long life that I have accepted that I can never change…and to be perfectly honest there is not much that can cure insomnia…Perhaps…Just perhaps this will be yet another reason I can never get any sleep. I know this is wrong, but my only excuse I have is that I’m an old man, who simply misses his brother…and I’m so _very tired_ of wondering about what **_might_** have been!”

Both men grew silent for a moment as Mycroft looked down at his left hand…the skin looked so thin with time, countless age spots and a thick blue vein ran clearly underneath his fragile looking hand…His fingers, he wiggled slowly were still hooked to the machine.

Finally, Mycroft spoke once more, on this rare occasion his voice held deep, raw emotion, “No one should have the power to change the past… ** _no one_** …Not even when we believe it would be for the better good…Or hope it will make things better…You see, Ray, I could have just made things so much worse with my interfering...All I want is my brother back, but I also want him happy…so I had to interfere with Molly Hooper’s death as well and make my brother realize…” Mycroft snorted, “I don’t even know if it worked! I guess it’s true what they say… _Only time will tell_.”

Mycroft looked around the lab and noticed without much expression or even childlike awe as others might have done if they were seeing things slowly fading away into nothingness right before their eyes.

All the colorful dry erase boards with all their important notes, books, pieces of paper, post-its, laptops, and files…fading…until nothing…

“Sir…M-Mr. Holmes, p-please, what will happen to…me?” Dr. Ernest asked as he watched all of his lifelong work fade away…He had spent so much of his life on this…well past his retirement years…Now it was nothing…He was…turning into nothing…

“Oh, please don’t worry…You’ll be fine! Remember when we first meet? Hmm? All those years ago and how you were seriously thinking about retiring instead the government stepped in and offered to back you…Well, instead of that…I have been telling you how a distant relative of yours, that you don’t actually have, actually this person I’m telling you about has never excited, has sadly died. He was a loyal servant in a low branch of the government, a good friend of mine in fact, and well, he left you some money. A very nice amount, actually, as well as a lovely little cottage in Sussex. You even told me more than once how it’s a dream of yours to keep bees…Well, now you can! I honestly think you will be very happy, Ray…Plus…”

Mycroft cut off for a moment, looking at the scientist before him, who was looking slightly less solid. Soon enough he’d fade away.

“Plus?” Ray asked curiously.

“I’m no matchmaker, of course, but there is a lovely widow named Mrs. Amberley who is your neighbor and I happen to know how much you both _love_ chess and one day…I feel certain that wedding bells will ring!” Mycroft didn’t even attempt to sound interested or even happy for him…There was a faraway look in Mycroft’s eyes as if he was seeing something only _he_ could see…  

“Oh…So, um, j-just how lovely is this widow—“As Dr. Ray Ernest was asking this he completely disappeared…to a little cottage in Sussex…to keep his bees…and finally find love and happiness.

Suddenly Mycroft groaned in pain as the machine burned and hurt his hand as if punishing him, for he helped give it life just to take it away and as the machine disappeared it took the man attached to it with him…into a cold, lonely darkness…

Then just as suddenly, Mycroft was no longer cold or in darkness. His hand hurt like hell; incredibly sore…He slowly opened his eyes to find himself in his old office. An office that he could clearly remember from his past…He looked down at his hands and they looked…years younger…at this he was surprised…A quick glance at his calendar confirmed that he was indeed younger…In fact, it was the very night Dr. Hooper had been killed all those many years ago…Now, he was no longer an old, lonely man…A single knock and Mycroft drew in a sharp breath as Anthea, looking incredibly beautiful, entered the room. He found that he couldn’t seem to look away; drinking her in…She set down some Top Secret files upon his desk.

“Sir, the General Director of MI6 is on line one for you and the Prime Minister is waiting on line two. I also must remind you that you are having tea with the Queen in an hour.”

The pain in his left hand throbbed and tingled as if it had been asleep and was only now waking up…

“Fine…Good…Thank you, Anthea…Also; will you please get me a cold water bottle and a couple of extra strength tablets?” He found himself requesting, his heart pounded with something he hadn’t felt in years as he watched her smile.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” She moved towards the door yet stopped with her hand on the door knob, before asking with real concern in her voice, “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you quite so pale…”

Mycroft moved his sore fingers before answering honestly, “I don’t know, I guess… _Only time will tell_ …”

With that said, he waited a moment before continuing carefully…But needing to know something that had been on his heart for so many heartbreakingly lonely years now…

“Tell me, Beverly…” He decided to use her real name for once, “Would you ever go out with a man like me?”

Her response made him smile, this time his smile, for the first time in over a decade, his smile actually reached his normally cold eyes…

~*~SH~*~SH~*~SH~*~

Molly had just entered the locker room and was about to open her own personal locker, for really why would she open someone else’s? When Molly heard a loud commotion from the door way, she whirled around to face Sherlock. Who was entering the room loudly with both of his hands full of large bags.

“Oh, good, there you are! _My_ Molly! It’s been quite a day, let me tell you! Actually, the story about my day is much too long and sounds silly, though I have something much more important to tell you…” Sherlock set the bags down and then quickly looked through them before finding the one he wanted, just to toss it her way.

In surprise she caught it, “Sherlock! What are you doing?”

Her eyes were wide as she studied him.

“Those are your clean clothes, nice clothes actually, I stopped by your flat and picked them up for you…I also checked on Toby, he’s fine by the way.” Sherlock explained his eyes completely on her. As if trying to remember ever detail of her face…Which Molly knew he wasn’t…right?

“You got me clean clothes?” Molly asked in complete astonishment.

“Yes, for you have something quite yucky on your trousers. If you want I’ll be happy to tell you what it is…”

Molly looked down at the stain with some embarrassment. Now her face was a bit red. “H-How did you know?”

“As I said, quite a long story so just say thank you, Molly.” Was her response from Sherlock as he continued to keep his eyes focused on her… _Completely_ focused on her…

It made her wonder if she had something on her face except Sherlock being well…Sherlock, he would have said something by now! Right?

 “Oh, well…Thank you, Sherlock…” Molly replied softly, meaning her words. She was thankful.

Sherlock softly smiled, “You are quite welcome.”

He then rubbed his hands together as he told her, hopefully in fact, “You can change now if you want. I don’t mind. Really, I’ll be happy to stand right here…and wait…You don’t mind if I watch, do you? Or I can close my eyes…I do plan to peek, so if you did ask me to close my eyes…that would be a bit silly.”

Molly thought she could taste the floor with how her jaw had hit the floor. It took her a minute to remember to shut her mouth. What the… ** _WHAT_**?

His eyes looked her over slowly as he waited for her response…

Molly blinked…Had he been hit on the head or something?

“Um…Well…Um…Why do you want to watch me change my clothes?” Hopefully, she asked a reasonable question. If it was another man, she’d think he was attempting to flirt or…something…Yet; Sherlock never flirted unless he wanted something…

“OH!” Sherlock suddenly burst out and went back to the bags he held. To simply hand them over to her. “Happy Birthday!”

“You…” Molly was truly stunned and deeply touched. “Y-You remembered my birthday? Really?” She hadn’t thought he’d remember her birthday, much less care about it.

Sherlock’s smile faded before he said seriously, “Molly, I will now **_always_** remember your birthday. I find that…it’s now very important to me. Very important…Your life should be celebrated…Also, one should celebrate the fact that you are alive…You are alive and that makes me very happy.”

“It does?” Molly asked surprised.

Sherlock nodded making Molly breathe... “Oh, Sherlock…”

He suddenly looked away as if nervous, “So…What do you think of your present? Or presents really…”

Molly looked down into the bags and blinked, a bit perplexed to be totally honest, “You brought me…boxes of _tampons_?

Now he looked at her with something sparkling within his intelligent eyes…Excitement? Warmth?

“And some chocolate bars as well as some romantic comedies!” Sherlock informed her sounding quite proud of himself.

 Molly dug around in the bags, curiously looking for the romantic comedies. When she held them in her hand she told him dryly, “These are porn, Sherlock.”

She slid them back into the bag.

“Porn…Romantic comedies…I’m certain they are the same thing. Pretty much you have two people getting involved…or wanting something the other wants and sometimes all of it is set to music. Also, two people naked, what’s not funny about that?” Sherlock stated with a careless shrug before continuing, “Now, I know it’s not your time of the month, for that won’t happen for another two week and three days…however…I had an enlightening talk with Mary. I simply **_had_** to ask her a couple of important questions. The most important question was how in the hell did she know she loved John…Another was how did she know she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, her being a psychopath and all; I would have thought love impossible. Well, she said had been dating John for a couple of months, when she called him and said that she had to cancel their date. Mary freely rated at him about how she wasn’t feeling all that great and worse of all she had ran out of blasted tampons. So, he told her that he’d be happy to pick some up for her and perhaps bring her some take away and some movies. He could then go away or give her a back rub, then go away…But she knew right at that moment that John Watson was a keeper and she could love him easily…Then she realized that she did and that was that!”

“Ah, that’s a sweet story, Sherlock, but I’m not sure why _you_ have given _me_ tampons…” Molly told him curiously, voice gentle and kind as he seemed to move closer towards her…

“You see, I am giving you tampons because…I…I want you to **_know_** without a single doubt that I’m **_the_** **_man_** with whom you want to spend the rest of your life with, Molly Hooper. I know you already love me and know you know, I’m that famous **_one_** that stupid romantic girls dream about and wait for. I’m thinking that you have waited long enough, don’t you?”

“Are you…Are you actually saying what I think you are saying?”  Molly asked breathlessly…Stunned…Hopeful…Did _she_ hit her head or something? Her heart seemed to be racing wildly…Seriously, was this moment real? It felt real…

Especially, as Sherlock moved closer and she could almost feel his body…His very _real_ body!

“Yes, at least I think we are on the same page…You see, only a man who cares deeply and wants a commitment with someone that find very special would ever buy that woman tampons…Especially if that man loves that woman and wants to spend the rest of **_his_** life with her…Sometimes it takes a couple of well-placed love taps to make a man like me…realize that the one he has been waiting for…has always been there if he had just bothered to investigate such a matter…”

Molly looked at him with suspiciously wet eyes and a hopeful smile… “Really? Did you actually investigate the matter for I never thought you the type to be waiting for anyone special…”

“I didn’t know until…I sometimes miss important clues, Molly…I am a man who prides himself on seeing everything but sometimes…I need them pointed out to me.” Sherlock reached out to lovingly and tenderly touch her cheek, before continuing, “So…Yes, Really! Why else would I buy you tampons?”

Molly let go of the bags…Leaning in even closer… “Sherlock, are you sure? I-I mean, I’m quite happy simply being your friend… _Seriously, nothing has to change_.”

“No, Molly, trust me, there **_needs_** to be a change. A big bloody change! For I need to make more memories! Of you…with me. I’ve seen certain things that made it clear to me just how important you are to me…I now know just how badly things need to change and Molly, I want… _need_ that change to be with you.”

And so with that Sherlock pulled Molly closer, pressed against him, and brought his lips down onto hers. The kiss was wonderful, loving, and a bit possessive.

To be honest, it was quite a serious kiss. The kind of kiss that promised even more wonderful kisses! This kiss seemed to swear that he wasn’t messy around, not at all damn it! It was as if he wanted her to **_know_** , to completely understand, that there was no doubt… ** _He, Sherlock Holmes, loved her!_**

Molly happily kissed him back. She found it perfectly normal to kiss Sherlock back. There was even some impressive tongue action going on. Molly happily enjoyed his passionate kiss and the welcoming strength of his arms…

After a long pleasant field moment Sherlock removed his lips from hers, his voice deep and raw, “Happy birthday, Molly Hooper…”

 ** _”BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!”_** Molly declared, with her hands in his curls as she attempted to move his head back down so their lips would touch again…

“And may you have many more…” Sherlock answered with a smile before he did as she wished and closed his lips over hers…

~*~SH~*~SH~*~SH~*~

“Oh, Sherlock…It’s all simply amazing, just amazing!” John sounded as if he was in deep awe. “You caught a serial killer and made Lestrade very happy…Which both of us has no idea how you figured it all out! Lestrade said when he brought the case to you that you claimed it too boring for your time! Yet, you found the time to hunt the bad guy down! He’s off the streets because of you. It’s also odd how you told Lestrade that he was safer in prison because if that killer ever breaks out, all bets are off and that you would kill the bastard with your bare hands…Seriously, Sherlock, you act as if he had done something that you’ve taken quite personally! It’s odd, to be honest, but what is really amazing is the fact that you are here at Molly’s party! One you brought her to! Also, you both are a couple, now…I’m in shock, Sherlock! I never thought in a million years that you two…not that I didn’t hope, mate, I did, but…I’m happy for you both…Damn, I love happy endings!” John told him after such a long speech, rocking upon his heels, looking quite happy. Almost as if he had been playing matchmaker all along and everything had worked out beautifully.

“Do stop your babbling or at least save it for your blog! And you love happy endings because you are a romantic, John.” Sherlock replied as he heard a familiar, lovely laughter close by and searched for his Molly. The sight made him smile…She looked so beautiful…so alive…

Her cheeks were flushed with happiness and as she finished talking to a friend she started to walk up to Sherlock and placed her hand lovingly upon his arm.

“Oh, isn’t all this wonderful?” Molly asked before admitting, “I’ve never had a birthday party before! It’s absolutely lovely, thank you, John!”

John smiled and nodded…

“I’m actually looking forward to your next birthday party…all your future ones in fact.” Sherlock told her softly, leaning towards her ear. He suddenly shoved his fruit punch at John. “Come let’s dance!”

Molly couldn’t help but be happy as he took her hand and lead her towards the dance floor.

He took her into his arms and focused on her dark beautiful eyes that sparkled with humor, love, and more importantly _life_.

Miracles…

Perhaps miracles weren’t well placed illusions…Maybe life was simply full of miracles if one was willing to look and see them.

Sherlock Holmes may never become a true romantic like his best friend John, but like him, he too could appreciate happy endings…Not that he’d ever admit that out loud…

~*~One Year To The Very Day~*~

Mycroft moved out onto the balcony to breathe in some cool fresh air. Damn, he hated parties. All the people and the silly noise! It was always chaos, really…

Yet, as the British government he was normally forced into coming to these bloody things when it was deemed quite necessary…Today, it was quite necessary, not because Mycroft was the British government however but because the invite to come had indeed been too important to miss…

Still, he hated parties even if he knew and was comfortable with most of the familiar people here. Even if he being the legendary ice man…Loved most of them…Even his dear uncle Rudy…

He sighed in annoyance when he heard a soft sound behind him, Mycroft turned and whatever he’d been about to say however sharply…died a most peaceful death.

His handsome brother moved slowly to stand beside him. They seemed to ignore one another as they both stared down onto a lovely garden below…The smell of roses easily filled their nostrils.  

“Cigarette?” Mycroft finally offered.

Sherlock snorted, “No, I better not. Molly and John have started a campaign of nagging me about it. So, I’ve given them up…Again…Some more still…Though perhaps this time…Doubtful, I know but I do take comfort in the fact I have some cigarettes hidden away in my Persian slipper.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, knowing that one of Molly’s nagging comments had been she wanted a long life with him…Which Sherlock seemed to be paying attention to. For he hadn’t touched that Persian slipper for quite some time now…

“Mummy really loves your bride, Sherlock…” Mycroft decided to say, knowing this was true.

“Well, yes.” Sherlock stated simply. “And I love her as well, which is the important thing.”

“Well…Molly Hooper…I mean, Molly _Holmes_ , is quite loveable. Or so mummy says. I wouldn’t know really, you and I have always been a bit different in some ways. We both seem to love different things. Even if one day they might break our heart…”

Silence fell. Mycroft hadn’t said what he said to be mean or cruel or to even suggest that Sherlock’s wife would one day break the great detective’s heart. For Molly Holmes would never do that willingly. Perhaps he was talking about himself in many ways…For he knew things…About his time line and his brother’s…And he clearly remembered certain things…

Luckily, Sherlock didn’t take offence…It was if he knew his brother was remembering a time that no longer existed. He wasn’t dead. Molly wasn’t dead…Sherlock was doing his best to keep the new time line up and running, trying to keep it from ever going back to what had been…

Yet, the past, the _real_ past seemed to haunt both men…

Sherlock finally broke the silence with a soft heartfelt, “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Ah, so you like the toaster I’m giving you as a wedding gift?”

“Well, one can’t go wrong with a machine that burns smiley faces into slices of bread but that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”

“What for then?” Mycroft asked carefully…

“Oh, you know what.” Sherlock stated with great certainty.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Mycroft denied stiffly, though he did glance briefly down at his left hand and wiggle his fingers slightly.

“You are such a liar!” Sherlock breathed, ignoring his brother’s sharp glance.

“Well, yes, I have been known to lie on occasion and with the greatest of ease. But…Let’s say…I do in fact know _exactly_ what you are talking about. Hmm?” Mycroft said in a conversational tone as if discussing the weather with a servant, “You get no other do overs, Sherlock. No third or fourth chances at getting things right. Only this **_one_** second chance, **_this_** chance to get things right…Although I must say…You are doing quite well with it, perhaps you are not as stupid as I feared.”

“No, Mycroft, I’m not as stupid as you feared. I simply miss some things but once I see them…And _I know_ , this would be the only do over I’d ever get…” Sherlock answered back, catching Mycroft’s questioning side look before he explained, “Whatever…However…All this came about, Mycroft, I know you. You would have destroyed whatever it was that made all this possible. For it would be much too dangerous to let anyone get their hands on it, especially yours. You know, bloody well that no one should ever have that power, _no one_. It’s in no way a toy…Hell, just thinking about terrorists or someone thinking they have the right to play God getting their hands on it could give me sleepless nights. Anyway, knowing that I only have this one shot at this…Makes this second opportunity even more special. Makes it worth so much more, makes me treasure every moment that I spend with my Molly. I’m not sure if I will have the pleasure of storing a lifetime of memories of us together but I’m sure going to try.”

Sherlock reached out and actually touched his brother’s arm. They normally didn’t touch unless it actually meant something…Like Sherlock actually saying ‘thank you’ and meaning it…

“So…Really, **_thank you_** , Mycroft…Also, just between us, you are _not_ a total ass hat no matter what John might say…”

Mycroft simply nodded, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him…

Sherlock continued softly, “You know, we have both been extremely busy as of late but when I come back from my sex holiday we should spend a lovely afternoon simply playing board games…I find that I have been missing it…”

Only then did Mycroft turn and face him.

“I’d like that, Sherlock.” He breathed, “It actually feels like **_years_** …Far too many years in fact…Also, brother mine, this sex holiday that you speak of is actually known as a _honeymoon_.”

Sherlock waved his words away. “It’s a holiday where two people spend money to go somewhere nice just to have lots of sex…I’m not even sure where the honey or the moon comes into play! So really one should call it what it really is.”

Mycroft chuckled as Sherlock turned and walked back inside to make more memories with his Molly. Oddly, enough he wondered if he should have shared with Sherlock that the Once A Year Killer had recently died in his jail cell. A well placed rumor about what the killer had enjoyed doing as a hobby brought him to an end. Mycroft had made quite certain Molly would now _never_ die from that man’s hands…

Well, he didn’t wonder this for long as he found himself slowly following his baby brother. All from a distance, of course, to watch as Sherlock tapped John on the shoulder to cut in and dance with his lovely bride.

Molly and the others laughed with great joy as they witnessed John shrugging and stepped into Sherlock’s waiting arms to dance a few steps before they let go so Sherlock could dance with the one he actually wanted to dance with.

Quite suddenly, Mycroft’s left hand started to burn and with a zap of pain flashed through him. It was strange but he was starting to get use to these odd moments. His price, perhaps, for messing with time…He had a feeling he’d always have to deal with small pointless visions of Dr. Ernest and his brother’s future…Things he couldn’t change…Simply watch…

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

An old salt and peppered, yet, still a wild bunch of thick haired Sherlock held a tiny baby in his arms.

“Hey, Dad, look up! I want to take a picture!” A young man with dark sharply intelligent eyes that seemed to notice everything around him ordered…He looked much like his father, Sherlock, yet there seemed to be something quite warm about him…Perhaps this was from his Mum…

Sherlock gave his grown son a look, “Should I toss my new grandson off to the side or do you want us both in the shot?”

“Both, Dad!” Sherlock’s handsome son declared as he quickly snapped a picture.

“Now, take a picture of us both with your mum.” Sherlock ordered, “MOLLY! Get over here, woman!”

“Sherlock...” Molly tsked as she walked into the room, she looked so delicate in her old age, yet still quite beautiful even with the wrinkles and countless laugh lines near her eyes. Her very eyes seemed to sparkle brightly…She wore a bright, colorful jumper with a very cute cat pin off to the side…”Really, you don’t need to yell.”

“MUM!” A woman’s voice yelled from the kitchen. “May I please take some eyes home and perhaps a liver?”

“You really must ask your father, dear.” Molly answered calmly as if completely use to these questions.

“Daddy? PLEASE!”

Sherlock sighed, before answering. “You can take the eye balls, but I have plans for that liver.”

Sherlock then took his wife’s hand tenderly, lovingly with his own. Molly smiled and leaned forward to happily brush her lips against his. They never noticed their son capturing that moment with his camera.

“GRANDMA! GRANDPA! Myc, pinched me!” A little young girl’s voice tattled loudly and with a bit too much pleasure in getting her twin brother into trouble.

“You dared me to, while playing ‘truth or dare’ you little wit—“An equally young boy’s voice responded back hotly…

“MYCROFT! Don’t you dare pinch your sister even if she dares you to! Actions like that, young man, will have you being the first one to walk the plank when we play pirates later!” Sherlock warned his young grandson. He then turned towards his lovely wife of many long years. “I do love our children and our grandchildren, really I do, Molly…But I do wish you had warned me about there being twins and triplets in your family.”

Molly blinked at him in complete surprise. “Sherlock, you are a great bloody detective, some even claim that you are legendary!  Couldn’t you have detected that there was twins and triplets running wild in my family when you met them? There was my mum and aunt, both twins! Or even when you met my grandmum and her two brothers who were oddly the same age! Or noticed their children…or even their children’s children! Sherlock they were all there at our wedding! Even my twin brothers came up and tried to get you into a conversation about taxidermy! All the clues were there!”

“Really? Are you certain?” Sherlock asked faintly as if trying to remember before muttering, “I must have filtered it…Damn, why do I miss certain things?”

At his wife’s look he quickly added, “Not that I mind…” A beautiful smile lit his handsome face and continued honestly, “I really don’t mind at all.”

They shared a sweet kiss…Their family seemed use to their loving moments and never once blinked an eye…

Sherlock, who still carefully held his new grandson in his arms, leaned in close to Molly’s ear to whisper, “When everyone leaves there’s a bottle of honey that I believe I finally know what to do with!”

Molly actually blushed, before whispering back. “Oh, Sherlock…Well, you know what they say…You can catch more flies with honey instead of—“

Sherlock quickly cut in, “I don’t want flies, I only want to get my Molly…”

~*~SH~*~SH~*~

Sherlock’s words faded as Mycroft left the vision, of a point in his brother’s future. Mycroft took a long, deep if not shaky breath…

As the famously known ice man watched Sherlock and his lovely sister-in-law, he found that he couldn’t help but smile softly. The smile was real and true.

He quickly eyed Sherlock’s new mother-in-law as she talked with wide happy hand movements with her twin. Oh, how Mycroft hoped he didn’t start laughing like some bloody fool in the upcoming months when Sherlock would inform him that they were going to have **_a_** baby!

Suddenly, Mycroft noticed how Sherlock leaned in close to his Molly and with his ability to lip read knew instantly that he was wishing her a happy birthday.

They were both celebrating life, Molly’s life, Sherlock’s life…and now _their_ life together.

Finally, with a completely happy heart, a heart Mycroft would never admit to having, he whispered, “You are so welcome, brother mine.”

It was well known in certain circles that he would do pretty much anything for his baby brother. Mycroft would even do the impossible, even playing with time in hopes that Sherlock would actually get things right the second time, the last time, around.

A part of himself had feared that he was doing a great wrong, playing with time, playing God for his brother. Yet, as he watched Sherlock and Molly…dance and laugh…

Sherlock had what he wanted, Molly alive, and he now could make many memories that involved the love of his life.

It was odd but watching them together, Mycroft knew with the greatest of certainties that he would now **_never_** regret what he had done. Not now. Not ever.

His dear brother was alive…Though he had read on John’s blog how Sherlock seemed determined to be careful about something his brother called ‘killer cleaning rags’ that were out to get him! Surely John knew they were indeed dangerous…Always lying in wait to do the great detective in!  

Then there was Sherlock’s dear sweet Molly. Now she was his wife and would become the future mother of his children and future grandmother…

Sherlock’s ancestral line wouldn’t die out with his death. It would now continue strong as ever. Much like Sherlock’s love for Molly and hers for him. Their life together would go on.

Anthea, his lovely Beverly, came up to Mycroft and handed him a tall glass. Mycroft calmly thanked her and with the great knowledge that his brother wasn’t the only one who could completely change his own time line took a chance and decided to ask, “So tell me, my dear, would you ever _marry_ a man like me?”

Yes, he was tempted to ask if twins or triplets ran wild in her family, he doubted it…not that he’d mind if they did…But seriously how in the bloody hell could Sherlock _not_ notice just how strong the Hooper family tree was? Damn, it looked more like a bloody forest instead of one tree!

Perhaps his brother’s brain had simply gone into shock and his mind palace decided to reject such knowledge for if he filtered and deleted enough Sherlock felt it safe enough to ignore. Though to be honest none of that mattered.

Mycroft’s beloved brother had willingly, purposely, changed his and Molly’s own future. He had made things right…and because of that profound fact, an odd peace that was calm and steadfast settled over him. It left him with absolutely no doubt that tonight he’d sleep quite well.

Perhaps for the first time in many years he’d have no dreams or if he did they would be good dreams…sweet dreams. Like the one Mycroft had when he was a little boy were he got lost in a chocolate factory…

So, even with an extremely hurting hand, Mycroft Holmes knew without a single doubt that he and his brother, this time, had made things right…And really he was perfectly fine with that!

~*~THE END~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a bit long but here is the happy ending that I promised! Everyone lives and everyone is happy…Well, except for the ‘Once A Year Killer’ but I’m not bothered that he doesn’t have a happy ending. 
> 
> I hope you found pleasure in my weird story; it was a pleasure to write it for you. 
> 
> Also, a little side note, the characters Dr. Ray Ernest and Mrs. Amberley are from the original Sherlock Holmes story ‘The Retired Colourman’ though in the story they are both quite dead and Sherlock solves their murders, pretty much telling Mr. Amberley, “I know how you killed and where you killed them but where did you hide the bodies? Oh, wait let’s see what the strong smell of paint on that wall is covering up!” Anyway, they two also got a happy ending! 
> 
> Have a lovely day and thanks for the encouragement and for reading….


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